


the only thing that matters is your heartbeat going strong

by enby-crowley (probablypadders)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley went through a Lot in episodes 5+6 and I wanted to explore it, First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scenes, Mostly Canon Compliant, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Soft Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 12:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19476238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probablypadders/pseuds/enby-crowley
Summary: To say Crowley has had a rough couple of days would be an understatement.A mostly canon-compliant look at how our favourite demon deals with the fallout of Aziraphale's discorporation and their respective trials in episode 6.





	the only thing that matters is your heartbeat going strong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MxSovereign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxSovereign/gifts), [Demorra (thebibliosphere)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebibliosphere/gifts).



> I've fallen head over heels in love with Good Omens since binging the miniseries and when this idea took root I knew I HAD to write it. Title is from 'Take Me Home' by Pentatonix.
> 
> Dedicated to my very own angel @CJtheDamned and also to Joy aka @thebibliosphere who inadvertently dragged me into the fandom and inspired me to write for the first time in years.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE this fic contains description of a panic attack and implied PTSD - take care!

It takes Crowley far too long to step foot into the bookshop.

He stands on the pavement across the road, occupying Aziraphale’s body and lacing his trembling fingers behind his back as he takes everything in. 

A. Z. Fell, and Co. looks perfectly ordinary.

Passers by pay him no attention thanks to the idle glamour that’s settled over his borrowed skin but he knows he has to move sooner or later to avoid suspicion from other sources; he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and crosses the street.

His nerves are so tightly wound that the tinkling bell overhead almost makes him jump when the door opens, but nevertheless he steps inside and flicks the locks into place with an absent-minded wave. Pacing up and down each aisle, he makes a mental note of anything that appears out of place - they’re few and far between, to Adam’s credit. 

_Flames engulf the shelves, licking the ceiling as Crowley stumbles through the shop screaming Aziraphale’s name, fervently praying to anyone who might be listening that he’s not too late._

Crowley snaps back to the present to the realisation that he’s shaking, his stomach turning sick somersaults. There’s still no sign of any damage but the demon _swears_ the acrid smoke is still stinging at his eyes, making each breath harder than the last.

It’s all he can do not to scream out for the angel again. Instead he steadies himself on Aziraphale’s desk with a white-knuckled grip, taking gasps of air he doesn’t need as tears flow unchecked. He drops to his knees when they refuse to hold his weight, right there in the middle of the floor, and rests his forehead against the lip of the desk. It feels like he’s dying.

 _“He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive._ ” 

Crowley mutters the manic mantra to himself between shaking breaths, scrabbling at his throat to loosen the angel’s bow-tie and barely pulling his wits together enough to miracle it away when his fingers won’t cooperate.

When he finally surfaces from the tidal wave of panic that had pulled him under, he struggles to his feet, fumbling through a few pockets for a handkerchief and wiping somewhat helplessly at his streaming eyes and nose, his entire body still shaking with adrenaline.

At a loss of anything else to do, he unsteadily shuffles into the back room and flicks the kettle on, running on muscle memory and biting the side of his thumb all the while.

Then the phone rings.

Crowley jumps like he’s touched a live wire and scrambles to answer, almost tripping over his borrowed feet in his haste. “Hello?”

“Crowley?”

For the first time since he crossed the threshold the demon feels like he can breathe.

“Hi, angel.” he answers, quickly wiping his face.

“I was just calling to-- hold on, is everything alright? You sound… odd.”

Trying not to gulp audibly, Crowley dismisses the thought with a wave, injecting as much brightness into his answer as he can muster. “Are you sure that’s not just the fact it’s _your_ voice you’re hearing?”

“Well, I… I suppose you’re right.”

“It does happen every so often.” He smiles a little, then deflates with an inaudible sigh.

“Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I was just going to ask if you’d like to meet up at St James’s. It seems a shame to waste such a glorious afternoon.”

“Sure thing. I’ll meet you there in, say, half an hour?”

“Perfect.”

They say their goodbyes and Crowley ducks upstairs to make use of the full-length mirror in Aziraphale’s bedroom, straightening out his attire and wiping away the remaining evidence of his prior meltdown. 

A deep breath. Then another.

He could do this. He _had_ to. For Aziraphale.

***

Refreshed by hellfire and quietly confident that their interpretation of the final prophecy had been correct, Crowley makes a beeline for the agreed meeting point in St James’—he’s the first one to the bench so settles in to wait, slouching in his borrowed body.

Five minutes pass. Ten.

 _Come on, angel_. He bites the corner of his lip, mentally reaching out for any sign of the angel’s innate Light in the surrounding area and feeling his gut twist when he draws a blank.

Twenty minutes.

He can’t bear to sit still any longer. Instead he paces, scanning the crowds for a flash of dark leather or bright red hair. The prophecy _had_ to have been right, surely? He’d made it through Aziraphale’s trial unscathed, what was taking the angel so long?

He scans the crowd again. Still no sign. It’s been nearly half an hour since he arrived.

 _I have to go and get him_ he thinks. The side of Aziraphale’s thumb is starting to bleed where he’s been biting it but he’s too lost in worst-case scenarios to even notice.

“Crowley?”

The demon almost trips over himself in his haste to turn around and _thank Somebody_ , he’s never been so happy to see his own face.

“ _Aziraphale_. What took you so long, angel?”

“Oh, sorry my dear, had to make sure everything was dry! Wouldn’t want to let you back in the driver’s seat while you’ve still got wet socks.” the angel chuckled, his face falling when he sees how drawn Crowley looks.

"What’s the matter?”

“...Nothing, angel. Swap back?”

Holding out his hand expectantly, he dredges up a half-hearted smile until Aziraphale reaches out to him and they can finally return to their own bodies.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Crowley mutters as he shakes himself out. Without another word he gestures for the angel to go on ahead, falling into step just behind him to take a deep, steadying breath out of Aziraphale’s line of sight.

Their usual companionable chatter is absent but the mood lightens somewhat when the reach the Bentley; settling behind the wheel is like coming home, and Crowley takes a moment to breathe it in before starting the engine.

“Where to, angel? Anywhere you like.”

“Well, actually, I was thinking we could have dinner at the Ritz. I do believe a table for two has _miraculously_ become available.”

Crowley smiles softly, shifting gears and resting his hand atop Aziraphale’s as they peel out into afternoon traffic. The angel wordlessly turns his hand over and laces their fingers, not commenting on the tremors running down Crowley’s arm but rubbing his own thumb across spindly knuckles as he fills Crowley in on his trial.

***

Crowley is more himself on the drive back to the bookshop; he keeps his hands to himself this time but the conversation is no longer one-sided and he narrowly misses a lamp post, caught up in Aziraphale’s animated expressions as he is.

“Watch the _road_ Crowley, for Heaven’s sake!”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. No harm done angel.”

A disbelieving hum is the only answer he gets but Aziraphale is smiling despite himself when Crowley cuts a glance at him.

By the time they pull up at the bookshop Crowley’s heart is beating an unsteady tattoo against his ribs and he lets the engine idle when Aziraphale turns to look at him once more.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come in, dear boy? I’ve got a Riesling chilling that I think you’ll like.”

Ah.

Crowley sucks in a breath and let it out slowly, stills his bouncing leg and offers a smile that even he can tell is weak at best. “Sure thing. Lead the way, angel.”

Aziraphale frowns but gets out of the car regardless and breaks into a relieved smile when, just as Crowley had confirmed, the bookshop looks exactly as it always had. It takes a moment for the demon to gather his courage and follow suit.

 _Please, not now. Not here_ he tells himself as his stomach turns over, Aziraphale’s voice fading to background noise beneath the roaring in his ears.

_“AZIRAPHALE! Where the heaven are you you idiot?! I can’t find you!”_

_He screams for the angel again only to be knocked off his feet by a jet of water from the fire engines outside. His head bounces off the wooden floor and for a split second he’s tempted to lay there and let the fire consume him but he can’t give them the satisfaction. They killed his… they killed_ **_Aziraphale_ ** _, he’d be damned all over again before he let them kill him too._

“Crowley, dear, can you hear me? _Crowley_.”

Finally surfacing from his waking nightmare, Crowley looks around in a daze.

They’re on the sofa in the back room, a soft blanket thrown haphazardly around him whilst Aziraphale rubs his back. He leans heavily against the angel, too tired to fight his instinctive desire for contact, and when he feels a gentle kiss to the top of his head the remaining scraps of his composure crumble.

“I thought I lossssst you.” The dam finally breaks and he turns into the angel’s embrace with a broken sob, wrapping his arms almost too tight around the softness of his middle. Unbeknownst to Crowley, Aziraphale lets a few tears of his own drop into the demon’s hair, his heart breaking for both of them.

“Oh, my dear boy.” he murmurs thickly. “My poor, sweet thing. I’m so sorry.”

Aziraphale continues rubbing Crowley’s back and lets him cry, occasionally brushing a kiss against his hair. “I’m here, darling. I’ve got you.”

When the tears begin to subside Crowley lets out a deep, shuddering breath, then a sigh, keeping his ear pressed to the steady thrum of Aziraphale’s heart with his eyes closed until the awkward angle gets the better of him. It’s as natural as breathing to swing his legs across the sofa and let his head rest on Aziraphale’s lap after wiping his face on the offered handkerchief, another sigh sagging his thin shoulders.

A minute passes in silence. Then another.

“I’ve almost lost you twice now. I can’t do it again, angel, I’m not strong enough.”

It’s so quiet he thinks Aziraphale hasn’t heard him but then his chin is being tilted gently until golden eyes meet stormy blue and his heart fumbles a beat. Aziraphale’s warm fingers shift to frame his jaw, thumb stroking back and forth along the sharp line of his cheekbone, and Crowley damn near forgets how to breathe.

“Zira?”

“You haven’t lost me, dear heart. I’m right here.”

Aziraphale leans down as Crowley shoves himself up onto his elbows, closing six millennia of distance to finally bring their lips together. It’s warm, sweet, and infinitely satisfying, Crowley’s hand sneaking up into Aziraphale’s curls as the angel strokes the side of his face. There’s no urgency to the press and slide of their lips, just a deep-rooted sense of peace; this is right, this is _home_ , regardless of what anyone else may have to say on the matter.

“I love you.” Aziraphale breathes when they finally draw back just enough to lean forehead to forehead. “I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up, darling.” 

Crowley shakes his head and steals another soft kiss, smiling into it. “The important thing is you’re here _now_ , angel.”

Aziraphale’s only answer is to kiss the end of his nose, bringing a flush to Crowley’s cheeks, and he reaches for his glasses.

“May I?”

Crowley hasn’t even realised he was still wearing them, truth be told. He doesn’t quite trust his voice but nods gently, letting Aziraphale slide the dark frames off his face; it takes him a second to adjust to the sudden brightness but the open adoration in the angel’s eyes warms him to his core.

“Beautiful.”

“I could say the same about you, angel.”

Aziraphale ignores the remark in favour of running a fingertip over the snake curling down the side of Crowley’s face until he shivers, dragging the angel down into another kiss.

“I love you too, by the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! You can find me at @enby-crowley on tumblr and @enby_crowley on Twitter, I'm hoping to write more GO content in the coming weeks :)


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